Warning: Some blood and violence, I guess

"Well, took you long enough, England."

England's eyes fluttered open.

And the first thing he felt was an intense aching in his right leg.

His head throbbed. Badly. Each beat of his heart sent a harsh, burning pain all over his chest, and every time he breathed his lungs grew hot until they ignited and collapsed, never getting enough air to fuel his body. There was a loud ringing in his ears, one that became quieter by the second but then suddenly intensified again, never fully going away, accompanied by a growing stinging pain in his ears that made it feel like his eardrums were about to explode. His entire body was numb and yet tingly, with a strange prickling sensation running across his skin ever so often that sent a low shiver down his spine. He felt an itchiness in his throat and let out a dry, ragged cough, only for hot liquid to rise up, and blood splatters out his open mouth like a fountain. He blinks, trying to clear away the dark spots in his blurry vision, but to no avail.

"Yikes," came a muffled, distant voice. England coughed again. He shifts and tries to get up, but his back was rigid and his arms and legs were as heavy as lead, so after a moment of struggling he was forced to let gravity take over and fall back onto what he assumed was a bed. His head hit the pillow, sending a long shudder up his neck and he let out a small squeak.

"Easy, England," the voice came again, this time slightly more clearer. He squints, feeling all the tired stiff muscles on his face all scream at him not to. If he focused hard enough he could make out a few blurry splotches of browns and reds and greens, all silhouettes under the blinding brightness in his vision.

Skin touched him and felt his forehead, making it tingle uncomfortably. England tries to groan in protest, but only gurgles and crackles came out. Cloth touched his lips and under his cheeks and neck, wiping away the sticky hot liquid that he'd coughed up. He tried to move, but strong hands held him in place, until the cloth had dried all of the wetness on his chest and neck.

"England," The voice said slowly. "Can you hear me?"

It took a lot of effort to move his head and nod. After a moment, England's sluggish mind was finally starting to be able to process what was going on. He closed his eyes for a moment, cogs and gears turning in his head as he searched through the memories in his head.

Ah yes. The voice belonged to his brother. Or one of his brothers. He didn't exactly know which one. But it was one of them. Probably.

He heard sighs, and soft muttering that was too quiet for him to hear. He tries to open his eyes again, and this time the dark spots in his vision began to slowly wither away, and the image of one of England's brother became clearer and clearer until he could see each individual face feature.

"W-wales?" He tried to croak - but only a short, quiet spurt of air came out. Suddenly, skin touched his right foot, sending a burning sensation all the way up his leg. He squeaks and winces and with all the little energy he had left, his leg jerked away.

"So it still hurts." This time, it was another voice, one that is slightly deeper.

"Oi," Wale's voice hisses sharply into England's ear. "Don't touch him, it's not fully healed."

"It's impressive how he grew it all back in a week," The second voice chuckles. Northern Ireland.

A finger pokes one of his toes. He jerked his foot back at the touch - though it didn't hurt, for his toes were numb and he could barely wiggle them - and immediately regretted it, because the movement sent a long wave of aching pain up his leg. He growled.

"Sorry," Wale's soft voice drifts in between the ringing in his ears. "But see, look, this leg's still shorter than the other, it's not fully healed yet-"

"Better not wake him up that, else that wanker's going to want to move around-"

England coughed again and shifted in his bed, feeling his splitting headache tearing his head apart, and his brain has disintegrated. His throat was sore and his lungs felt like they had shriveled up so much they were almost gone and all he wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep and never wake up.

But he didn't.

His chest was burning up. His ears throbbed each time he heard the dull thumping of his heart, beating faster, faster. His breathing grew shallow when he tasted the familiar metallic taste of blood, and his throat gave way to warm liquid again. He felt it, in the tingle of his skin and the footsteps of millions of people on his land. In his blood he felt the bustling streets and the steady stream of chatters, quiet and hushed as light steps and happy faces lit up the path - as well as the the magical creatures of the forest darting on the grass and the wind blowing against his wizards as they lifted of the ground and into the dark night sky. His heart weren't just hurting from physical injuries.

A sharp sting in his spine caused his eyes to shoot wide open and, ignoring the loud screaming and protesting of his entire body, he'd jerk up from his bed. The surprised squeak from Wales and the sudden shriek from Northern Ireland were barely audible, distant in his ears as the ringing grew louder and he felt all the blood being drained from his numbed face. His face twitched, and his clammy fingers grasped onto the bedsheets so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, his knuckles turning white.

Voldemort.

Prussia turned as pale as a ghost.

The room was silent. The pounding of his own heart deafened him, growing louder and louder and faster and faster by the moment. He stared, gaped, and suddenly his body went stiff and heavy as lead, his feet frozen to the floor, his arms rigid.

Across the room, a small, skinny man in a gigantic turban stared back at him.

"You!"

Quirrell only smiled, a calm, sinister smile, and stood motionless. "Me," He said simply, the corners of his mouth turning up even more when he saw the two boy's eyes widen, and Prussia took a step back, his body finally beginning to quiver from head to toe. He gnashed his teeth, his fist clenching, and his mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out. Instead, he felt his breathing become rapid, as the memories of Quirrell flooded back into his mind in a short, sudden burst. He felt his legs gave in and, before he knew it, he was on the ground, his arms only barely able to weakly push him up to a sitting position.

Harry covered his mouth, trembling just as much as Prussia was. "B-but Bondevik - o-or Snape-"

Quirrell let out a short, low chuckle, and Harry clamped his mouth shut when he received a wide-eyed questioning glance from Prussia. In a moment Quirrrell had stepped forward and was now looming over them, casting a faint shadow over the two shivering boys

"Bondevik?" Quirrell's smile grew even wider as he spoke. He didn't blink. "Surprising, considering the fact that Bondevik doesn't even seem like the type." He paused, tapping his chin with a long, bony finger."Ah, but Severus? Mm, it was quite useful to have him swooping over everyone like an overgrown bat, indeed. Next to him, who'd expect p-p-poor o'l s-s-s-stammering Quirrell?"

"B-but..." Harry's eyes were bulging out of their sockets. "B-ut Snape tried to kill me, and Bondevik-"

"N-no," Prussia softly, and for a moment the ringing in his ears stopped and his heart went silent. The coldness of the floor traveled up through his fingertips and into his blood, and Harry and the room melted away for a moment, and it was just him and Quirrell in the stingy little closet. Prussia winced and shut his eyes, forcing the visions away from his head.

"Oh?" Quirrell's voice was cold, but amused.

"Harry." Prussia's tone was calm now, and he pushed himself up, without ever commanding his body to do so. He staggered a bit before his feet found balance, and he stood facing Quirrell, staring straight ahead to avoid the professor's gaze. "He tried to kill us."

Quirrell smirked and tilted his head, eyeing the boy up and down for a moment. "So you remember after all."

"Harry, get behind me."

Harry blinked, giving Prussia a questioning look, before stepping back. Quirrell's grin seemed to widen even more.

"Trying to protect your little friend, there, boy?" Quirrell snarled, now quickly advancing towards them. Prussia's eyes flickered to a structure behind the man that he hadn't noticed before, and internally chuckled to himself. Of course. The mirror of Erised.

"Of course," Quirrell's voice was smooth and cool. He regarded the small albino with cold eyes, sneering. Prussia only looked up at him, feeling the shudder run down his spine again, and subconsciously holding his arms up, shielding Harry from the man. "Remember, the Quidditch match, Potter?" Quirrell continued, ignoring the gesture. "Your friend Miss Granger ran into me, and it broke my eye contact with you. You'd already be dead if Snape hadn't been muttering that counter-curse of his."

The man snapped his fingers, and in an instant, claw-like tendrils snapped out of the ground and clung on to Prussia and Harry like vines, wrapping around their ankles and arms. Prussia yelped, feeling the ropes tightened around him so much that his legs stung and ached. He pulled on them, letting out a loud, animalistic growl, struggling against the ropes - but they won't budge, no matter how hard he tried with his diminishing nation strength, and soon he could feel his muscles tighten with exhaustion.

"He tried to referee the next game, remember - it's funny really...he looked like he was trying to make Gryffindor lose, seeing as he did make himself unpopular. What a waste of time that is - I wouldn't have tried anything anyway, knowing that Dumbledore was going to be there." The professor then grinned and his hand reached into his cloak to slowly pull out his wand. Prussia's eyes widened, and once more he felt the beating of his heart grow louder and louder as it rattled in his chest. "Yes, indeed, what a waste of time, seeing as how I'm going to kill you tonight."

He tapped his chin and once again stared Prussia up and down for a while. "You're too nosy to live, both of you. Scurrying around the school at Hallowe'en like that, running around in the middle of the night t chat with the ghosts, quiet odd, I might say. For all I know you'd already seen me coming to check what was guarding the stone. Shame that my troll failed to kill you."

"You let in that troll during Hallowe'en?!" Harry gaped. Prussia held his breath, feeling a bead of sweat run down his face as he tried to glare at the professor, who, at the moment, had all his attention on Harry.

"Ah yes, I do have a special gift with trolls," His smile faltered. "And while everyone was running around, unfortunately, Snape followed me right to the third-floor corridor." The man turned around, now to face the large mirror, tapping his chin curiously. "Now, wait quietly, you two, I need to examine this interesting mirror."

Prussia felt his blood boil when Quirrell's fingers grazed the silver frame, gently, nails clicking. Immediately his legs began to weaken again, when, from the depths of his mind more memories emerged, ones of being shoved in front of the glass, bruised and beaten. He shivered, and as soon as his weakened muscles relaxed the ropes tightened themselves even more.

"How does it work? How crafty, Dumbledore, moving this mirror here from that room...Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this." He tapped the glass. "The mirror is the key to the stone, right, yes...By the time Dumbledore gets back from London, oh, I won't be here, would I..."

Harry blinked. He turned to Prussia, who had been groaning and growling and wiggling around, bounded by rope, for a while. The albino's eyes were shut tight and his head was hanging, and he was muttering something inaudible under his breath. Harry looked back at Quirrell examining the Mirror.

"I saw you and Bondevik in the classroom," He blurted out before he could stop himself, and immediately the professor whipped around, his smile thinning and his eyes turning colder. Prussia's shoulders tensed as he slowly opened one eye, and, in between the moments of aching pain from his head, he gave Harry a confused glance. Harry wanted to shoot him a reassuring look back, but kept his gaze on Quirrell, who had walked away from the mirror and was advancing towards them again. "Y-you were sobbing when you came out-" the Gryffindor stuttered, feeling his confidence wane as a small frown began to form on Quirrell's face.

"Yes," Quirrell said cooly. "Both he and Snape had suspected me from the start, they seemed to get along well enough, yes, perhaps that is why they decided to both come confront me, albeit at different times for different things." He chuckled. "Tried to frighten me, both of them, and, of course, I must admit, Bondevik did put on quite a fun show, with his intimidating glare, yes..." He laughed. "But of course, I was not bothered by it, heavens no, why would I, when I have Lord Voldemort on my side?" He adjusted the turban on his head. "I met him during one of my travels, when I was a young foolish man, oh, I was, I still thought that there were such things as good and evil...But He showed me the truth, that there is only power, and those who are too weak to see it."

At that moment, Prussia finally caught on to what Harry was trying to do."So Norway confronted you." he said suddenly, just as his head stopped hurting just long enough to make a comment. The albino coughed and shut his mouth right away after realizing he'd let the nation name slip. Quirrell gave him a strange look, before shaking his head and going back to the mirror. He stared hungrily into it, stepping so close he was almost pressing his nose against it.

"I see it - yes - I'm presenting to Stone to my master, but where is it..."

"You know, Bondevik doesn't seem like the type to confront people."

Quirrell broke off his gaze with the mirror and went back to look at Prussia, who was trying his hardest to hold in his scream. There was a ringing in his ears, his chest was going to explode, and his head hurt like a motherfucker.

"Yeah, Prussia continued, between gritted teeth. "So Harry suspected him, huh? Can't blame 'im, Bondevik looks shady as fuck, AND he can talk to trolls, who knew trolls spoke Norwegian-"

"We have to do something about the boy," Quirrell's soft voice cut in, and Prussia immediately shut up. That smooth, soft slithery voice once again brought back memories he'd rather not remember, and the throbbing in his head grew more intense. "He knows too much - refused to tell us how the mirror works-" He tapped his chin. "I don't understand - is it inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

"Wow, crazy how Snape tried to save Harry, right?" Prussia almost let out a nervous laugh, out of habit, but kept it in. "I mean, it looked like he hated him.

"Oh, he does," Quirrell said casually, not taking his eyes from the mirror. "He was a student at Hogwarts with your father, Potter, didn't you know? Heavens, he loathes you..." He paused. "But he never wanted you dead." He continued tapping the mirror, tilting his head and staring at it from all angles.

"Use the boy...use the boy..." A soft voice murmurs from Quirrell himself - but this one was lower and more raspier. Prussia shudders, remembering the voice whispering quietly into his ear while he was bound by rope and stuck in that musty closet. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he found himself biting his quivering lips to keep himself form screaming.

"Ah, yes, of course, of course," Quirrell rounded up on both of them, his dark eyes never leaving Harry. "Yes, yes, the other one 's not budging, no matter how hard we try, we can use Potter instead..." He stopped, towering over the two small figures in front of him. "Potter, tell me, boy, how the mirror works..."

Harry only blinked.

"Ah, yes, that's right, boy, come here, come here..." Quirrell begins dragging Harry away, much to Prussia's protests. Harry was wriggling, but the albino could see him craning his neck to get a look at the mirror. The boy was dragged in front of the mirror and he closed his eyes, wrinkling his nose, trembling. Prussia struggled against the bounds, hissing and groaning, only to feel the pressure on his limbs increase. He yells, feeling his body freeze in place and heat up as the tendrils dug deeper into his skin. Harry was now glancing nervously at him, then back to the mirror, and he could see the boy's eyes flickering. Prussia hisses again and kneels, his entire body trembling, as he dares open an eye to see a pale, scared boy looking back at him in the reflection.

His heart pounded when Harry took a step back and spared another short, terrified glance at him. "I...I..." Harry stammered, taking steps backwards. "I saw myself...winning...the House Cup for Gryffindor."

An obvious lie. Quirrell turns back to the mirror, cursing and growling, and for a moment Harry stood frozen, before turning around and his legs began to quicken to a run as he approached Prussia.

"He lies...he lies..." Both boys stop in their tracks and stood rigid, wide eyes and quivering lips turn to Quirrell. The voice was soft, almost calming; but Quirrell hasn't moved his mouth. If it were possible, Prussia would've gone even paler.

"Let me speak...to them...face-to-face..." The voice rasp, and Harry froze on the spot

"B-but master, you're not strong enough-"

"EXCUSE ME DID I FUCKING STUTTER?"

"N-no, sir!" Quirrell stammers, and the children watched in horror as he begins to unwrap the turban on his head, until the large mass fell down to the floor. He turns around, and slowly, as the noises in the room faded, the children caught glimpses of...ridges on the back of the man's bald head; ridges that became cheekbones, and a nose, lips. Prussia felt his feet gave way and he fell back down, trembling, feeling all the muscles in his face tense up, but Harry's eyes stayed on Professor Quirrell without a twitch. A pale, bony face stared back at them; red eyes, eyebrowless, with small slits for noses and a large, ugly grin - one Prussia remembered too well. Harry, evidently petrified, opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The boy only gaped, almost as pale as the face itself, and shaken to the core.

"Harry...Potter..."The face whispered in a raspy voice, and Harry flinched. The face said nothing for a moment, and its eyes shifted to Prussia. "And...uh...the other guy."

The children kept their mouths shut, and the face continued. "I have become...only shadow and vapour. I have no body of my own, and I only have form when I share a body with another...but there have always been...those who let me into their hearts and minds...you see, faithful Quirrell has been helping me stay strong...by drinking the unicorn blood...yes..."

Somewhere in the world, Romania sneezed.

"Yes...the unicorn blood has...strengthened me...these past weeks...and...once I have the Elixir of Life..." he needn't say more. The face frowns, ever so slightly. "Now, Potter, be a good boy and give me that Stone in your pocket." Prussia's stomach sank. Harry looked like he was about to cry, and he stumbled backwards. Prussia, who was still on the ground, found the courage and forced himself up to stand next to the boy.

"No."

Voldemort snarled. "Now don't be foolish, boy...give it to me...join me...and save your own life...don't be like your parents...they died begging me for mercy..."

"LIAR!" Harry suddenly screamed, shaky legs taking a step forward. He was seething, his teeth clenched, his face a deep red, his his entire body trembling. Prussia almost stumbled backwards, eyes widening. Voldemort approached them, keeping his gaze on them as Quirrell walked backwards. Instinctively, without thinking, Prussia stepped in between Harry and Voldemort, raising his arms to his side to block the face that now had an ugly smile. He was hyperventilating, feeling the fear bubbling in his stomach, but held his ground and stood up as straight as he could. Voldemort's smile grew.

"How cute." Quirrell crept closer. "I always value bravery, you know. Your parents, Potter, were very brave indeed. Yes, your father even put up quite a fight, dare I say, but your mother, no...she died to protect you...give me the stone, Potter, else she'd died in vain..."

"NEVER!" Harry's shriek rung in his ears, and Prussia hurled himself at Quirrell. His head collided, and once the spots stopped dancing in his vision and the darkness in his head lifted, Quirrell was writing on the ground, clutching his stomach in pain. Harry dashed to the flame door, but Quirrell lifted his head and sprung up, his knee violently crashed into Prussia's chest. Prussia's legs gave way and the world shattered when he felt the hardness of the floor on his skull, his brain jolting and a low thundering in his ears. Voldemort was screaming commands, and Quirrell's cloak swished on the floor.

As he scrambled up, he heard Harry letting out an animalistic yowl, and Voldemort grinned back at him when he realized that Quirrell had caught hold of Harry's wrist. Harry grunted and hissed in pain, and for a moment something in his forehead gleamed; but then it was gone, and Quirrell leapt backwards, yelling and holding up his hand. He was hunched over slightly, hissing, and right before their eyes Quirrell's fingers began to blister. While he was distracted, without thinking, Prussia sprung forward with a raised fist rammed it straight into Quirrell's stomach again. There was a horrible crunch, but it came from Prussia's knuckles, and as soon as Quirrel was thrown backwards by the force, Prussia also stumbled backwards, a throbbing pain spreading all around his hands. Damn this weak, eleven-year-old body!

Alas, Quirrell had gotten up just as fast as he went down, and this time, pulling up his sleeves, he lunged towards Prussia, with his wand raised. A beam of green light barely missed him, slicing by his white hair with less than an inch of distance. Prussia's heart leapt, and so did he. He smashed into the ground with a deafening crunch, and his left arm went numb, but before he could even get up again, another beam of green light hit the ground on the spot that his hand once was less than a second ago. With his heart rattling in his chest, and a lump in his throat, he scrambled to get up, only to end up rolling to the side when the spell almost hit him a third time. The world was spinning, Voldemort's and Quirrell's yells blurring together, blinding lights zooming across Prussia's vision. All he could do is barely avoid each attack by rolling to the side, too slow to get up, and with horror came to the realization that his muscles were beginning to ache, and his breath was getting faster and more shallow by the second.

That was until he heard yowls from Quirrell. He scurried to hide behind the mirror and collapsed, but quickly regained his strength just enough to lift his head and peer at Quirrell. Harry had gotten a hold of Quirrell from behind, his hands fumbling around Quirrell's exposed arms. Quirrell hissed in pain, with Voldemort's angry hollering ringing in the air. But Quirrell was stronger than Harry, and after a moment of struggling, he knocked the boy clean off his feet and threw him to the ground, pinning Harry with his hands wrapped around his neck. It was only a second before Quirrell's body surged up and stumbled backwards. This was when Prussia finally got a clear view of the wizard's once pale hands and his arms - red, burning, and raw. Harry took his chance and slipped right out from under him. He didn't go far and ended up collapsing in the middle of the room, his hands frantically searching his pockets for what Prussia assumed was his wand. Quirrell scrambled up again, red, growling, and, with an inhumane screech, charged at Harry with his wand raised.

An idea popped into Prussia's head.

When Harry scuttled away far enough, Prussia used all of his remaining strength and pushed the mirror.

There was a deafening crash; the glass had shattered, and the boys covered their faces with their arms as the ground shook and shards went flying in all directions. Quirrell tumbled to the ground, backwards. Voldemort's face hit the hard ground underneath. Loud, ugly crunches echoed through the room, and both Quirrell and Voldemort screamed until their voices cracked. And then there was a moment of stunned silence, as Harry removed his arms from his face, his eyes as big as saucers as he stared at Prussia with his mouth hanging.

Their attention shifted to Quirrell when they heard him groan. Slowly, menacingly, the boys watched in horror as Quirrell staggered up, panting, and stared at them with a murderous glower. His whole body was shaking, and his eye was twitching as he took a step towards them, glass shards crunching under his foot. He wasn't a pretty sight; bruises and cuts line his face, blood trickling down from parts of his skin wear his flesh had been dug out, some with the glass still lodged in. He was frowning deeply, his teeth gnashed and his fingers clenched around his wand until his knuckles turned white.

"YOU!" Voldemort's raspy voice bellowed as Quirrell pointed his wand at Prussia. "KILL HIM!"

Before another word left Quirrell's mouth, he tripped and was once again writhing in pain on the ground. That was when Prussia realized Harry's foot was on Quirrell's cloak, and the man was howling and violently struggling as his face blistered and burned under Harry's hands. He was turning red and shiny all over, and Voldemort and screaming and yelling and snarling. Harry had gotten himself on top of Quirrell, gritting his teeth, his face going red as he held the wizard down.

"GILBERT! DO SOMETHING!"

Trembling, Prussia fumbled around his cloak and pulled out his wand. His vision was blackening, and the throbbing in his head was beginning to slow down his thinking. He pointed his wand at the wizard, aiming with both hands as they shuddered and swayed, his mind blinking in and out of consciousness. Harry was close to losing balance. Something clicked in the back of his brain, a spell, hanging on the tip of his tongue. His feet fought to stay up, and he took a long, deep breath.

"A-avada kedavra."

A/N: It's a shorter chapter than usual, I apologize. I really wanted it to end dramatically after that fight scene, so yeah.

It's summer, finally! After all the shenanigans that come with state exams as well as World Scholar's Cup, I'm finally back!

I found that long breaks help me write better stuff and I've realized that I should just relax instead of trying to write as many chapters as fast as I can. I went back and rewrote so much, and I hope it paid off! So if you think I've abandoned this just because I haven't updated in a million years, don't worry! I'm finishing it eventually. And hey, I may not be fast with my updates, but writing a little bit every day is better than nothing. It also helps when I let my ideas flow freely instead of sitting at my computer staring at the blank page, because thinking too hard sucks, haha;;